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It was a full day, nothing especially exciting, but we went for groceries as a family affair; Damon, I, Donna and Ray… Damon still sick, on the back of Donna’s bike, and me on the back with Ray.

We got through the grocery with me hiding in the corners… I don’t like to get too involved, because back in Canada I had a strict grocery regimen, and here is all over the map with everyone giving suggestions and adding chaos to the carts.
Once all was bought, Ray and I put everything into the carry-bags, loaded both bikes, and we headed home.

Honestly, Damon and I can run through a full grocery in less than a half an hour, but with everyone involved, it takes about two hours.
We got home, everything was put away and sorted, and I decided to sit out on the deck and relax with some Tanduay and Orange Juice.

I thought about this blog and things to talk about, I’ve come up with about seven topics, but the most pressing currently is really, the idea of survival.

To me personally, there is a large difference between the idea of surviving, and living.
In Canada, for about eleven years. I was highly focused on the idea of surviving.

I cannot say in good faith, that I was in a decent place spiritually, mentally, emotionally, let alone physically.
For so long, I was dependent upon the idea that in order to get a good footing in life, I had to rely on others to place me there. I compromised not only my future ideals, but my Self worth and my personal values just to get by, for the longest time. I became hooked by the idea that someone would ‘discover’ me, or would ‘recognize my talent’ and whisk me magically into the life that I ‘deserved’.

Looking back, these lines of thinking are what justified the kinds of crowds I allowed to infiltrate my life.
Countless people, both good and bad, who would use my good nature to further themselves, utilizing my own idealistic agenda to propel themselves into their own perfected dreams of reality… A naive student of life, feeding the immediate masses some skewed vision of paradise, all in hope to eventually save the world.

I felt as though the more I gave of myself to others, the more the world would shine with some kind of prodigious epiphany.

Unfortunately, the world kept turning as before.
Even after I tried to save my best friend’s virginity by sacrificing my own.
Even after I tried to spark a rebellion in my city with my insolent defiance of established law.
Even after giving up on everything and living a life of nomadic homelessness, which so many other youths before me have already done… better than I had, may I add…

The world kept turning it’s ugly face to the sun, and arose no better-faced than the day before.
The bitter struggles of survival are no match for my weak-kneed attempts at shaking the ‘Norm’ of things.

Once I grew compliant with the idea that I would not be the world’s savior, I found myself at a moderate loss in my life.

My whole objective for half of my years on this planet were to change the world, and to save humans.
I figured, No one can save the world… And no one can intrinsically change humans… but to change the whole world, all you have to do is get *ONE* Individual Human to think differently about the life around them… Like the tiniest firespark, all it takes is one flame to ignite an entire forest into burning.

My biggest flaw, yet my biggest joy in life for the longest time, was to put so much care and effort into individual souls that they couldn’t help but to question their entire beings… Their entire way of living.

I not only asked, but pushed the hard questions…
‘Why do you run yourself over, Why do you put so much thought into the past, Why do you not LIVE the life that has been given to you, in the present?’
‘Why do you dwell in a hole, why give that person so much power over you, Why do you allow yourself to be a copy of someone else’s past mistakes?’
‘You realize you are Here, right now?’
‘Do Something, DO something with your Self.’
‘You are Talented in a way that six billion other humans are not.’
‘Show Us what YOU can do.’

Ironically, terribly, and yet most ((excuse me)) fucking brilliantly, I told these things to the most abusive, most cruel, most vapid characters to grace my presence… Not really realizing in the process that I was speaking to the most hurt, most destroyed, and most abandoned parts of my Self.

So, Vicky, what the heck has all of this to do with Survival Vs Living, you ask, Gentle Reader?

I’m not one-hundred percent sure, to be honest.
I am a survivor.
I have been through enough in my life to know that I am equipped to deal with the worst sides of living that there are.
I know that I have seen enough in my life to know I can relate easier to someone battered and bruised in the shadows than I am to someone pampered and preening for the spotlight… Though I have also been in enough places to know there is makeup for those spotlights as well.
I know that there is more darkness in today’s world than sunrises… And I am not naive enough anymore to think that hopes and dreaming can cure a bad situation.

But I still have hope that we can all live free of tyranny, be it global or individual.
I know that if you ask, or ((excuse me)) fuck it, beg for it… more than a few times, help will alwaysbe there.
I know for a fact that no situation is unique, thousands of years of humans living, surviving and dragging themselves through the mud does, in fact pay off for those resilient souls that choose to survive.

And I do know… Even though I may not yet be accustomed to the idea, living simply is 100% possible for every human on this earth to achieve if they so choose it.

Well, I almost didn’t write a new post today…no news is usually good news, but I suppose being the author of a bloggity…no news is bad views?

So I suppose I shall talk today about driving on the Scoopy.

Way back in the day, when I was a little youngster, I thought it would be awesome to get my driver’s license… a personal milestone of life-changing grandeur, opening a whole new world of opportunities and greatness. I couldn’t wait to turn sixteen and buy a cheap rust-bucket to call my own.
As sixteen got closer and closer to becoming a reality, I realized that having a car was highly overrated, way too expensive, and much more work than I was willing to put in, and in the end, I never ended up getting my license.

When I moved out to the Philippines at first, the roads and traffic terrified me… the people here are insane on the road, and rivaled only by Montreal, in my mind.
My husby Damon told me I would get used to it, and that while it looks chaotic and dangerous, there actually is somewhat of a method for driving here. I thought he was just as insane as the rest, especially after telling me that when he’s alone on the bike, he drifts around corners and reaches speeds of over eighty without a helmet… Can you say potential street pizza???

Eventually though, after about four months of my being here, I got the driving itch. One day when there was nothing going on and I was ready to crawl out of my own skin at the boredom I was feeling, I decided to hop on the bike and go for a spin.

Previous to this, my only experience with the bike was being on the back with him, and one teensy instance of driving it from the Sari-sari to our house…a grand, majestic total of about a two-minute trip down the driveway.
I had never driven a car in my life, let alone a scooter, which is what we own.

So the day I drove alone, I went up the mountain… Deciding that since I hadn’t been up that way yet after months of asking Damon to take me, I’d just go right ahead and take my damn self.

I have to say, it was a lovely drive, the flowers, trees and various plant life here are all breathtaking, not to mention the scenic views of the city from the mountainside.
I could feel the local people all staring at me, and a few tried to get my attention, or said hello as I drove past… but being a foreigner here, it’s getting to be a normal thing for me to experience.

I almost drove myself off the road trying to avoid a baby chicken, and at one point I was stopped by a large herd of goats, but other than that, the ride up was smooth and beautiful.
I found what looks to be a park, that I want to investigate further, and I saw an old Lady sweeping grass clippings off the side of the road. I took the time to appreciate and admire her work, the way the freshly swept soil looked richer and darker for her doing so…

The way back home was a bit frustrating, I definitely got lost, and got a few smirks from people as I passed them more than three times trying to find my way…
I decided at one point to stop and ask for directions, and realized as soon as I did that I was on my own darn street.

I got home just before the tank ran dry, and decided I think I may very well fancy this driving stuff… I can’t wait to go out and adventure again…next time, I’ll remember to bring my camera.

I suppose in this post, I should tell you more about me, and how I ended up living in the Philippines.

Like I mentioned in my first post, I was living in Canada… and I have to say, for a country that boasts a reputation for being free, tolerant, and full of opportunity… my quality of life was terrible. Job turnover is a nightmare, minimum wage is the standard rate of pay for most work, excruciating rent prices and utility costs are the norm, food is low in quality and high in cost, the people are hypocritical and attracted to drama, and the overall morale of the entire country, while presented to the globe as high, realistically, is lower than I’ve ever seen it before.

I had been from one end of the country to another last summer, in a last-bid attempt to regain control over my reality. I had always wanted to hitch hike, so I packed my things up, and set out for the west coast of Canada.While the trip was definitely fun, showing me lots of new things and giving me the sense of adventure and independence I had craved for a long time, it was slow-going, exhausting and sometimes terrifying, as well as downright freezing at night time.

Eventually though, I ended up in Alberta. I worked there for a while, until it became the same old story… a mind full of shambles, and a life full of chaos. I went back on disability, and tried again to pull my life together with the wonderfully generous help and shelter of two awesome chicks I met through mutual friends.

Throughout all of this, there was a man whom I had met online, also through mutual friends, that I occasionally spoke to, over a period of two years.His name is Damon Flint, and he was (( and still is )) the damn coolest guy I had ever heard about in my life. Everyone’s stories about him were outrageous, larger than life, and hilariously genuine. Whenever I spoke to him, my life would brighten, and for those moments, I felt like I could take on the world in my own ass-kicking, brassy kind of way. While in NS and Alberta, we started speaking much more regularly, and it got to the point where we would Skype every single day… Both of our sleep schedules became so erratic it was silly.

While living with those two awesome Ladies, Damon and I decided we wanted to be together enough to make it a reality, and so I worked on getting a passport. It took about a month, but after it arrived, he and his mother booked the plane ticket immediately, and a day later, I was on my way.

It has been a sensational journey, and I am very lucky to have found a man so caring and loving as he is. I appreciate every day that not only are we together, but we get to spend the rest of our days in paradise.